A day with Pickles and me

I think a lot about my beloved, dearly departed cat Pickles. Some of you who know me in real life had the distinct privilege of knowing the Divine Miss P. For everyone else, click on the image below for an idea of what she was like:

Pickles was unlike any other cat I’ve ever known. She was her own breed—a breed of One. Fiendishly smart, contrary, spoiled, overbearing, disdainful, and endlessly lovable.

I’d like to share a little of what our days together were like. Below is an example of a typical Saturday for us. The dialogue has been altered for creative purposes, but the events are all true.

4:00amI’m sleeping.

Pickles: Bored.Me: Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.Pickles: BORED.Me: Zzzzzz–sngh?Pickles: BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BOREDMe: What the fuck? I was sleeping!Pickles: You were boring me. You will entertain me now.Me: It’s 4 o’clock in the morning.Pickles: I fail to see your point. You will entertain me now.Me: I’m not entertaining you now. I’m going back to sleep.Pickles: Suit yourself. But one day I’ll smother you. You’ll be sorry.

10:0am
Pickles is sitting on my lap. She peeks in my coffee cup and wrinkles her nose.

Pickles: Is that coffee?Me: Yes.Pickles: I don’t care for coffee.Me: I know. We go through this every morning.Pickles: You insist on drinking coffee even though you know I don’t care for it.Me: I’m not asking you to drink it.Pickles: (sniff sniff) What is that smell? It’s foul.Me: It’s toast.Pickles: NOXIOUS VAPORS. You’re trying to kill me.Me: Sigh. We do this every day, Pickles. It’s toast. It won’t kill you.Pickles: VILE!!! ASPHYXIATING!!!!Me: Oh stop, now you’re being a drama queen.Pickles: You should cook whatever you made yesterday. That smelled delicious.Me: I didn’t cook anything yesterday.Pickles: Yes you did. That blue liquid you had in the kitchen. It smelled delicious.Me: That was Windex.Pickles: I don’t care what the recipe is called. I want some.Me: You’re so weird. You don’t like food smells but you like cleaning products.Pickles: Don’t judge.

This was how Pickles looked most of the time: Annoyed.

2:00pm
I’m about to go out to run errands. I can’t find one of my flip flops.

Me: Have you seen my other flip flop?Pickles: No.Me: It was right there. You must have seen it.Pickles: I haven’t seen it. (Pickles shifts position, revealing what appears to be part of a flip flop.)Me: What are you sitting on?Pickles: I’m not sitting on anything.Me: Is that my flip flop?Pickles: No.Me: Yes it is. That’s my flip flop.Pickles: No it isn’t.Me: Pickles, I can SEE it. Get up, I need it.Pickles: No.Me: Get up. Come on.Pickles: No.Me: Don’t make me take it from you.Pickles: No.Me: Come on, give it to me. (Tries to slide shoe out from under Pickles. She takes a swing at me and her claw snags on my arm.) Ow, you drew blood! Give me my shoe, you rotten cat.Pickles: No. I’m keeping it.Me: Sigh. (Puts on sneakers instead)

5:00pm
I’m in the shower. Pickles is curled up on the bed, sleeping.

Pickles: WAIL!! BLOODY MURDER!!!!!! HORROR!!Me: (running out of the bathroom and almost slipping and cracking my head open) What??? What happened??? What’s wrong???Pickles: (sitting calmly on the bed) I want to go under the covers.Me: That’s IT? That’s your emergency? It sounded like your tail was being hacked off, the way you were carrying on.Pickles: I want to go under the covers. You will lift up the covers so I can go in now.Me: You know very well how to go under the covers yourself. You do it when I’m not home.Pickles: But you’re home now.Me: So what? You can still do it yourself.Pickles: Not when you’re home. When you’re home, you do things for me. That’s how it works. So lift up the covers and let me in. But if you don’t make an interesting enough tent, I will come right back out and you will have to try again. And stop dripping on me.Me: Sigh. (Lifts covers so Pickles can go under them. After three attempts, a satisfactory tent is created and Pickles is reasonably content.)

This sort of thing might explain why Pickles looked annoyed all the time.

9:00pmI have music playing. Pickles is sprawled on the couch. Shirley Bassey’s “Goldfinger” comes on.

Pickles: This song is too loud.Me: It’s the same volume as all the other songs.Pickles: I don’t like it. Turn it off.Me: Maybe you’ll like this one. (Plays “Diamonds Are Forever.”)Pickles: No. I hate this one too.Me: What is it with you and Shirley Bassey??Pickles: I don’t like her voice. Turn it off.Me: No, I like this song.Pickles: TURN IT OFF TURN IT OFF TURN IT OFF TURN IT OFF TURN IT OFFMe: Okay, okay. Relax.Pickles: Yes. This song is acceptable.Me: There’s nothing playing right now.Pickles: Yes.

Midnight
Pickles is taking up a disproportionate amount of space on the bed.

Me: Time for bed.Pickles: Whatever.Me: Move over, you’re in my way.Pickles: Why can’t you sleep around me?Me: Because it’s not comfortable.Pickles: Yes it is.Me: I can’t ball myself up in a perfect circle the way you can.Pickles: Too bad.Me: Come on, shove over or I’ll move you myself.Pickles: (moving) I was going to move anyway.Me: Good night.Pickles: Good night.

12:15am

Pickles: Stop that.Me: Stop what? I’m not doing anything.Pickles: You’re in my area.Me: I am not in your area.Pickles: Look at your arm. It’s on my blanket.Me: So what? It’s not in your way.Pickles: It’s on my blanket.Me: Big deal. You drape your tail over me half the time and I don’t get all bent out of shape about it. Or how about when you sleep on my head?Pickles: That’s different.Me: How is that different?Pickles: Because it’s me.Me: That’s not an answer.Pickles: Yes it is.Me: (long sigh) Fine. I’ll move my arm. Is that better?Pickles: I suppose.Me: Good night.Pickles: Good night.

12:30am
Pickles comes over and curls up against me.

Me: What is it?Pickles: Nothing.Me: You’re right up against me, you know.Pickles: I know. I was bored with my blanket and wanted to lie over here instead, that’s all.Me: I see. Okay. Good night.Pickles: Good night.

12:35am
Pickles rubs her face against mine, purring loudly.

Me: What’s all this about?Pickles: I’m—my cheeks are itchy. I’m just using you to scratch them, that’s all.
Me: Is that purring? You’re purring.Pickles: No I’m not.Me: Haaaaaa, you’re purring.Pickles: Shut up and go to sleep.

12:40amPickles rests her head in my palm.

Me: You have your head in my hand, you know.Pickles: Just in case my cheeks get itchy again. That’s all.Me: Mmm hmm. Good thinking. (Kisses her on the head)Pickles: Stop that. (Purrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr)Me: Good night, little Pickles.Pickles: Good night, Mommy.

159 responses to A day with Pickles and me

I loved this so much. Hilarious. Makes me miss my sweet self-centered cats. One of my cats used to watch me do housework, glaring at me all the while like he was saying things like “You’re doing it all wrong.”

Pickles did that too. She’d watch me vacuuming and I just know she was saying, “You’re doing a terrible job, and you missed a spot over there.” They’re so horrible, aren’t they? And I wouldn’t have them any other way.

I had two Siamese cats for 14 years. Women would come and go but those two were always there and happy to see me when I walked in the door. Here’s some cat haiku for you. I didn’t write these. Some of the syntax is wrong. But they’re right on the money.

The food in my bowl
is old, and more to the point
contains no tuna.

Seeking solitude
I am locked in the closet.
For once I need you.

Tiny can dumped in
plastic bowl. Presentation
one star; service none.

Am I in your way?
You seem to have it backwards.
This pillow is taken.

Your mouth is moving
up and down emitting noise.
I’ve lost interest.

The dog wags his tail
seeing approval. See mine?
Different message.

My brain walnut-sized.
Yours largest among primates.
Yet, who leaves for work?

These are all so perfect—they really encapsulate the attitude perfectly. Pickles and I were roommates for 9 years before we moved in with Mr. Weebles, and she saw me through much. Bad relationships, sucky jobs, and a lot of Saturday nights eating Ben & Jerry’s.

As aggravating as they can be, cats are like babies – they know when you’ve hit your limit and when they need to be cute and adorable. It’s a strong sense of survival. They have definite personalities and are missed when they are gone. Lovely tribute to your furry friend.

Thanks, Michelle! Yeah, they absolutely know when to bust out the cute. Darwin was wrong: It’s survival of the cutest, not survival of the fittest. Otherwise all pets and children would have been tossed out the window.

Miss Pickles must have been divine! I loved the conversations! They reminded me so much of my departed diva, Manda Jayne. She was very much like Miss P. I know you must miss Miss Pickles so much and I truly understand why. These wonderful creatures insinuate themselves into our hearts and make themselves right at home and stay there for years and keep themselves there even after they have gone on to their heavenly rewards. I miss my Manda Jayne just like you miss Miss Pickles. Sigh.

Pickles had the puffiest little cheeks. She loved a good cheek skritching, too. As do all cats, really. Skritch skritch skritch. (See? I too am totally sane.) Rorschach is an excellent cat name. Does he or she have splotches?

Has the Masshole indoctrinated you into the world of cats? Mr. Weebles wasn’t much of a cat person either until he met Pickles. But eventually, she sucked him in. And the three cats we have now have totally made him their bitch. He “gets” them now completely. I’m glad you do too.

I guess you probably wouldn’t have this problem with fish, unless you sleep with the fishes! See what I did there? Sleep with the fishes! See, because………

You describe it perfectly, Guap—she and I really were like an old married couple in the best possible way. We had an understanding and a special rapport. I consider myself utterly blessed to have been owned by her.

That was great! If cats could talk (but of course, they can, they just don’t want to), this would be happening every day. I’m sure she was one of the best cats around. Cats are just that awesome. If reincarnation exists, I so want to come back as a cat.

I’ve said this many times myself—I want to come back as a cat. But not just any cat, a spoiled house cat. (Otherwise you could end up as some stray cat scrounging for food and that would be sad.) Because that would be the best life ever.

Jeez, this post make me glad Michelle is allergic to cats and won’t let them in the house.But is was an extremely funny post. Because I had the odd cat as a youngster I know the story is true. So, are you the cat whisperer?

Bummer about her allergies—being owned by a cat is, as you know, a privilege. I know because Pickles told me it was. As for being the Cat Whisperer, I do think I have a particular way with cats, I’ve never met one who didn’t warm up to me. But when I whisper to them they just yell, “What?? I can’t hear you, speak louder, for crying out loud.”

Even with as self-serving and self-absorbed as cats can be, I wish I could have one. But hubby is far too allergic. It comes down to him or a cat. So far, he’s won. But we still have many years ahead of us…

Yes, there’s still plenty of time… Sorry that the hub is allergic, though. I could never have married anyone who was allergic to pets because I’ve had cats all my life. That was my one deal breaker. It once prompted a guy to call me a Crazy Cat Lady. Suffice it to say, Mr. Weebles is not that guy.

Pickles lived to the ripe old age of 19. Which amazed me, since she had so many health problems over the years. Cats are awesome, and Pickles was particularly awesome. I’m so glad you enjoyed this one, Daan!

Jigs, our cat for one year, many years ago, arrived at my kitchen window howling fiercely to be let inside when else, the wee hours of Halloween. She waltzed right in, made herself at home and for the next few months she pounced from the headboard onto my face first thing every morning to let me know it was time to get up, she pulled the lights off the Christmas tree and rolled herself in them to make herself look fancy for the holidays and had kittens in my closet just to give me something to clean up. Jigs was a lady of distinction. Of course she didn’t stay. She had places to go, other humans to judge. LOVE this post, Madame!!

Alas, Pickles would have felt the same way even about the great JEG tea blend as well, sir. She didn’t like ANY sort of people foods or beverages. On a completely different subject, your Larry may have a few trans-Atlantic cousins soon, as I’ve FINALLY managed to get some lemon pips to sprout! 😀

That’s funny, we have a cat now, Cupcake, who was presumed to be a male at the shelter we got her from. It wasn’t until we were getting her reading to bring home that we all determined that he was a she. I think the female gender really suits her. She’s obviously embraced her truth, and that’s a lovely thing.

I suspect that deep down Pickles was quite pleased with your performance as her designated human, but she’d never really show it because too much praise is demotivating. I bet she’s resting comfortably at the great catnip patch in the sky huffing over the fact that you’re not there to make a tent for her.

Great, now I have snot all over my sleeve, mascara running down my cheeks, and cat scratches all over my face because I grabbed up Mason the Cat for a hug while he was in the middle of a nap and he hates being waken up. But it’s all worth it. Pickles was a very lucky kitty, thanks for sharing her with us.

Ahh, Madame, I hate cats. But I love Pickles. But more than I love PIckles, I love your series of pictures to describe Pickles. Anything that is a combination of the Evil Queen in Snow White and a Dalek is pretty damn evil but also very, very cool.

Beautiful post, funny and touching. Thank you for reminding me I can’t have cats because I live in a ultra conservative apartment building. Though I’m fortunate to have friends who’s cats I can ‘pretend’ are mine when I visit. I think I’ll wash their windows next time I come around in memory of Miss Pickles ❤

Pickles sounds like she was wonderful. Maybe it’s just the day I’m having (not a long story, just one I can’t really post publically as it would involve my swearing) but reading that made me almost cry. Plus it made me miss my cat (she’s now living with a friend and he’s been her human for nearly two years and I still miss her).

If you ever do want to swear, you know you can feel free to do so here, of course. But I understand. I’m sorry this almost made you cry, and it’s sad that you don’t have your kitty with you. I would be sad about that too. Also, I hope your day ended up better than it was when you posted this comment. 🙂

The day ended with a phone call to my parents and chocolate. I’ve also decided that I’m going to mentally refer to the Sister who upset me as “Sister Grumpy Cat” from now on, because it’ll make me smile and maybe even wind her up (more than she’s already wound). I’m also going to try to get over to our retreat house where resides Charlie, who is a very adorable and very handsome and very cuddly cat!

Sister Grumpy Cat needs to get over the fact that she’s now old and learn to live with it. Only she’s not; she’s frustrated so she’s taking it out on all of us instead. No idea when I’ll get to visit the cuddly Charlie cat – whom you will see pictured at the bottom of the page at http://www.stoswaldspastoralcentre.org.uk/site/news&32 and I’ve just realised that with one Sister being on rest I won’t get a chance to go tomorrow, Saturday we’re in Silence because Sunday is Pentecost, so it’s likely to be a week before I can get over there. Drat.

Yeah, he’s just so cute. He’s a bit bigger than that now however. And he’s also been separated from his gonads since that picture was taken. He’s probably going to become ginormous, but that’s OK because it gives us more to cuddle!

What a personality! Love it! Cats are so much more interesting to me than dogs (sorry dog people). Just like the different personalities of the cats in “Cats,” I often think of some of my friends as cats, for example, there’s the proud, dignified loner friend who struts proudly down the alley; there’s the needy friend who would be that cat always rubbing up against you, sitting on your lap and purring, then there’s the friend who reminds me of a stray cat, all scraggly and scrappy. But some have personalities that can’t be converted into cat character.

I never thought of that, people’s personalities as cats. Even though I saw the show. Pickles would have been the kind of cat who would sue the Westminster Dog Show for discrimination against felines, and would then crown herself Best in Show.

They really do have an awesome ability to not care about anything. Sort of a “talk to the tail” attitude. I think you’d be an excellent cat. Pickles was definitely a soulmate, and I know how lucky I was to have had her with me. I didn’t get one full night of sleep the whole time, but it was totally worth it.

The music criticism reminds me of Miranda, who would object to my wife’s efforts to keep current with any sort of musical keyboard by sitting beside her and taking the first available digit in her mouth. Not biting, mind– just removing the hand from the source of noise. They’re a conundrum wrapped in fur and steeped in emotional hijackery, those cats.

Pickles sounds like she made every day an adventure. What could be better than that? Hubs is allergic, so I’m afraid one’s not in the cards for us. Maybe that’s best because the two I had when I was little didn’t survive very long. That was a time when every cat spent a lot of time outside, and roads were tricky places, even then.

I wouldn’t be surprised if she was looking over your shoulder while you wrote this post. Heck, she sounds like she could’ve planted the idea in your head!

I wouldn’t put it past her, JM. Pickles always prided herself on getting her way, so why should that stop just because she’s not physically here?? Sad about your childhood cats—I would never let my cats go outside, it’s just too dangerous, and I’m way too neurotic.

So – dare I say it? – puuuuuurfect! There are actually a lot of similarities between your relationship with Pickles and my relationship with my daughter. Namely, the intrigue with the coffee. C would also drink Windex if given the opportunity.

My goodness, Queen Pickles! Still, she seems like a little love. I want to kiss her…I can see why you did whatever she demanded. What a loving tribute, Weebs. I love my kitties. One of mine, Shasta Daisy, always sits at my feet so I can’t walk or move. That’s just perfect.

They know what they’re doing, too—they’re devious. DEVIOUS! It’s why I was Pickles’ bitch. I’m sure you do whatever your kitties want too. We can’t help ourselves. It’s all part of their diabolical plan.

For years, I liked dogs, not cats. Then I grew up and got it. Cats have so much character. Pickles was a beautiful cat (love her coloring)… sorry for your loss Madame. Losing our friends, our family, is such a hard thing… just sticks with you. Sweet story, that made me smile.

Dogs are great too, but they’re so different from cats. Cats are so complicated and weird. They do have a ton of character, in a very different way from dogs. And you’re right, My Lady–losing any of our furry friends is so hard. You never stop missing them, just like you don’t stop missing human members of your family.

Absolutely! When we lost our 15 yr Golden, Callie, I was heart broken. Three years later, I still miss her. True true about the cat vs dog thing too. I love my dogs, but if there wasn’t an allergy thing, I might become one of “those” cat ladies. 😉

To be fair, benzeknees, a lot of the conversations Pickles and I had weren’t nearly this elaborate. A lot of times she didn’t really help to keep the conversation moving, or she just ignored me completely. So it’s not just you and Bandit.

Pickles sounds almost as best as my dearly departed… my dogs all loved me unconditionally, but I was just grateful to get any mark of affection from my little boss cat, who would only drink water she had seen me just change. Otherwise she jumped and drank the water in my glass…
Pickles sounds as though she’d be a match for my little rascal…there is nothing like a cat… sung to the tune of there is nothing like a man

Awwww. Reminds me of one of my cats, Thunderbolt. He had a thing about public displays of affection. If I sat in “the correct chair” (the one in the bedroom, where nobody was likely to come upon us), he’d hop up and cuddle and purr and snooze on my lap. But if Hubby or even one of my other cats came into the room, he’d immediately jump down and stalk away. “Affection? I don’t need no stinkin’ affection!”

Madam Weebles, I can not tell you how much I loved this.Your conversations are hilarious haha!

I love cats, but don’t have them, I’d probably have one if my mom would let me when I was younger. Either way, there is a cat here that really lives by herself, a true hunter (I often see her with a rabbit or something). For a house cat, she doesn’t let anyone pet her. This one day I was feeling particularly down and went into the garden. It was a sunny day and I saw her lying under a bench. I sat down at a safe distance, but found it odd that she didn’t get up. Normally she would flee at the sight of a stranger. Instead she only lifted her head and looked at me through squinted eyes. So I did what anyone would do…waving and saying hello. Then she stood up and it I was like “No way! Is she coming towards me? She IS!! Oh my gosh!”…Seriously Madam, I could pet her, rub her belly and she gave me little “head bumps”. It was like she felt that I needed it. I can’t tell you how happy that made me! Now she kinda ignores me again haha. I will never forget it though.

Pickles seemed like such an awesome and adorable cat. Gorgeous too. I loved how your wrote about her. She was quite the Diva huh? 🙂

Awwwwwww, I love when they do that, when they know you need some love. She gave you a gift, TJ! Cats are the best. Truly the best. Pickles was indeed awesome, and QUITE the Diva. She might have nodded in your direction when you were down, but she couldn’t be bothered with any sort of extra affection. And I loved her for it. 🙂

Cats give me hives, but I would totally endure a disfiguring, itchy skin condition to roll with Pickles. I’m fairly certain that my husband would describe a lot of my behavior as extremely similar to Pickles. Instead of using this as an opportunity for self-assessment, I am going to use it as an opportunity to become Pickles’ newest fan. Her awesomeness will live on forever, especially because, from now on, whenever I get my diva on, I am going to proclaim that it’s “in honor of Pickles.”

Greetings and salutations, PinotNinja. Pickles would have saluted you heartily, if she were the type to salute anyone. I think you should refer to your behavior as “embracing your Inner Pickles.” Nobody could possibly argue with that. You tell your husband I said so.

RC Cat: “We salute Pickles. All of Our realm shall paws and gaze intently at a corner in honor of such an enlightened Cat. (Yes, Dunderheads. Staff included. It does not matter dinners are cooking – it is not Our dinner, so We have no concerns. Corners. Now. We shall take note of lack of enthusiasm and intensity.)
Sigh. We send a soft cheek pat in recognition of your devotion.
(Corners! Let it boil over! We have not signaled a finish. Such as Pickles deserves lengthy gaze!) We apologize for their rudeness.”

“To the most honorable and clearly wise RC Cat: I thank you for your kind words and homage. You are obviously a Cat of superior breeding and distinction. May your subjects show you the proper respect now and always.”

Thanks Arran–she’s been gone for three years now, but it always makes me happy to think of her. As for my Gravatar, It isn’t Pickles, but when I saw the photo I was immediately reminded of her (and you can of course see why).

Aaawwww! I loved this! Reminded me so much of my relationship with my little squish face cat Bixby. He looks angry and unimpressed all of the time! He is a total softy at heart though. Sorry that Pickles is no longer around, she sounds like an awesome cat.

I quite enjoyed this one Madame. I’ve always been a cat lover. My cat’s name is May, he’s independent and goes on tuna strikes, but always, always, falls asleep with me, on my belly. Pickles is too cute words….adorable. Great post!

So true! I think cats know we don’t like that part, but we let them do it anyway. Cute little guys, how can we say no?! When I push May off, he jumps right back up and at some point, I give in-fine, go ahead, and he kneads away.

I am so truly and deeply sorry that you lost Pickles but this post was utterly hilarious. I can see why she was the best cat ever! Oh my, these creatures will break our hearts but I’d have it no other way.

I am not Honie but am commenting via her electronics. Knowing me to be a long-time cat-owned human, she shared this with me. I was guffawing out loud. You nailed the process exactly, with feline-inspired disdain. Thanks for the laughs. I passed you around the room. You are admired by humans who want nothing but more words from you.

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